Writes..."Sonnets 71-80"

sonnet 71

"just how many women have owned my heart;
possessed one hundred percent of my love?
hmmm...perhaps a better question might start:
just how many women have i thought of,
when i'd professed to be "head over heels",
"completely smitten", or some other phrase?
more than a few, and thus it often feels:
"the love of my life"'s loved me only days...
but what if you just get one love in life...
and if you fuck up, there aren't any more?
bet that belief's in someone with a knife;
slit wrists mean they've got no one to live for...
truth's i've come to realize that's what i think...
only i bleed myself with writer's ink..."

sonnet 72

"she found my thoughts as black as my nails were;
decided that she couldn't continue...
a life built with me just wasn't for her...
to go her own way would be what she'd do...
she left 'cause i keep a "rock star" right hand...
a sign reflecting the darkness inside...
having realized she wouldn't understand,
it; the way she had once felt for me died...
she walks away from me with tearful eyes...
you can't walk away from love without them...
i had them too, despite knowing the "why's"...
"your view's bleak; nobody's outlook's as dim"...
she's right, i look at my hand and believe;
i've found black nails rarely look to deceive..."

sonnet 73

"she wants to know what i want in this life;
if there's anything she can do for me;
anything except for being my wife...
she'd already turned down a marriage plea...
the truth is i don't want things for myself...
that would cause others to think me a fool...
not a fame or an abundance of wealth;
certainly not my own kingdom to rule...
i tell her that all i want is a hand...
a hand in my own; to not walk alone...
for the supply to equal my demand;
a 1 to 1 ratio carved in stone...
our fingers touch as i express my heart...
for my want, does that constitute a start?"

sonnet 74

""i've moved on brian"; said in such a tone...
that with my first name, told me what it was...
when it'd been good, it was "b" on the phone;
now, she was done using nicknames because;
she'd moved on, just like she said that she had...
and a love no longer dwelled in her heart...
feelings for me had proved a passing fad;
the trend o'er the moment our paths did part...
then added, "perhaps you should do the same";
which sounded a lot like: "blah blah, fuck you"...
words that scorch released from a verbal flame;
they singe even though they're probably true...
can't make someone love you; ask bonnie raitt...
even when you thought loving them was fate..."

sonnet 75

"written in a past thought, her heart had said...
that she would always be in love with me...
and even today, every time they're read,
those words bring tears that make my eyes blurry...
but that was before, are they now less true;
then when she had expressed them in a note?
in time we'd each moved on to others who,
echoed the same feelings from lines we wrote...
when her hand left mine, someone else grasped it;
and another took my hand then without...
has our "always" survived those ones who get,
or got, to know what "always" is about?
but in writing her, "forever" was used;
so why should her "always" have me confused?"

sonnet 76

"my life's incomplete, so full of regret...
i fill in its blanks, only to erase...
the pencil marks of things i can't forget;
a mental sketch of a beautiful face...
met her on a "space that was not my own"…
loved her ever since the very first days...
but presently i'm in my bed alone...
a space not my own's next to where she lays...
yet there's nothing i can do to change that;
thus i spend time penning a hidden thought...
the one in which she wonders where i'm at;
and questions why the one that's there is not;
an unfinished man, in unfinished life...
who'd also wanted to make her his wife..."

sonnet 77

"why say i'm the best when it's done for me?
i've never been one for wasting my breath...
don't care saying this shit makes me cocky;
know they'll chant "g.o.a.t." at my death...
that's right, what i said, all ten people there,
will say, "no one was better, pen to page;
he wrote of the feelings his soul did bare:
his words were profound, his thoughts did engage...
we'd only assumed it was just a name,
but there's excellence in his number one...
without the fortune, without any fame;
he had died without even being done"...
so i'll say a thing now, before i pass:
"i've spilled more urine than r. kelly has"..."

sonnet 78

“i don’t give a shit ‘bout what people say…
i don’t give a fuck ‘bout what people think…
like frank sinatra, i do things “my way”…
maybe placed one day ‘cross my back in ink…
march to the beat, well, i’m my own drummer;
which means that i “keith moon” along life’s path…
people don’t understand this up-and-comer,
citing “keith moon”’s will incur someone’s wrath…
because those not like me are not like me…
talented, see what i did with that line?
took a phrase, turned it two ways, easily…
provoking envy through gifts that are mine…
i do what i do, despite those that hate,
arguably the thing that makes me great…”

sonnet 79

“how many times can one truly dream of,
seeing actions behind something they’ve heard?
how many times can one experience love,
a real love with meaning beyond the word?
not sure, but my thinking’s only one time…
do you encounter that “love of your life”;
you see, my heart has me convinced that i’m,
a fool for not making that love my wife…
i met a woman a long time ago…
quickly found myself enamored with her…
but made the mistake of letting her go,
now, wanting to return to what we were…
so i’m positive once is all you get…
when gone, gone forever, having lost it…”

sonnet 80

“smedley once said, “all’s fair in love and war”;
so who’s to say when one crosses the line?
i’ve dealt in areas of gray before…
what is black or white in making her mine?
truth is, love is war; a soldier am i;
and my arsenal’s a paper and pen…
with the objective of making her cry,
from reading something that i have written…
‘cause i use my words to step out of place;
without a care, like i don’t even care…
so she sees our past in front of her face,
does that tactic mean i’m fighting unfair?
wrong to have her remember how things were?
then wrong i’ll be, since i can’t forget her…”

Presents...Two Years Of Blogging

"as much as i tried to get on yesterday and post, celebrating the two-year anniversary of my blog, i had too many other things i needed to get accomplished and unfortunately was unable to. wah!!! anyway, march 20, 2010, i started peeing onto paper and then leaving the mess all over the monitor and i continue to do so today; and i'm not ashamed to say, there's a teensy-weensy bit of pride i'm feeling in writing that."

(from last year..."i've done the impossible...2 years of continuous blogging. yay me!!!")

Writes..."Sonnets 61-70"

sonnet 61

“i don’t know why i don’t tell her what’s real…
if i did, would my thoughts do any harm?
why wouldn’t she rather know how i feel?
i ponder that, taking her by the arm…
leading her away, in an effort to,
relay the burning desire within…
what means more than the words “i love you” do?
used in the past, they hadn’t matured then…
“i care for you”; more than any before,
or after her came, from a voice broken…
to echo my heart in words anymore;
can’t be done; so the rest’s left unspoken…
yet she still remains, therein lies the proof;
through exposure there can dwell hidden truth…”

sonnet 62

“i write about death, thoughts of suicide…
not my own, though that’s what some may figure…
when i pass on, i’ll have naturally died…
‘cause i’ll have naturally pulled the trigger…
wait, that’s not funny! where’s the lol?
where’s the indication this isn’t real?
i guess only those that know me can tell…
but i never bullshit ‘bout how i feel…
and i feel only a bullet will end…
“…thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to…”
when i quote shakespeare is when i descend;
into a place where i’ll “juliet” you…
to know the story; a verb from a name…
i’ll “romeo” me when you do the same…”

sonnet 63

“her “occhi sono sudato”; quote…
with each line read, the thought becomes wetter…
i’ve exposed my heart in a written note…
every penned word leaves a tear-stained letter…
“siamo sempre”’s the most famous line…
in more italian; it makes “us” profound…
“forever”’s the word we use to define;
the tie that keeps two kindred spirits bound…
yet as if seeking some treasure covered…
she continues on, sans hesitation…
to tell her my feelings, i’ve discovered…
a skilled hand’s best for that conversation…
and when she’s finished, teardrops will remain…
from two pairs of eyes capable of rain…”

sonnet 64

“sure, i’ve been profound since i was a child…
written poignant things that displayed talent…
but sometimes i like to cite oscar wilde…
he thinks like me, with an irish accent…
it’s “fuck humility” in softer verse…
a direct quote would simply be too long…
he said what i wrote, just without the curse…
but if he had, would it have made him wrong?
people that can, inspire jealousy…
from people that can’t, cannot, or can not…
i want to write so well the best envy…
and my best is giving them all i got…
like turning my thoughts into something noted…
so one day i’ll be the one who’s quoted…”

sonnet 65

“when i die, i’ll look myself in the face…
to reprimand with a finger waving…
the fact that i’d only lived to displace…
images of good men she’d been saving…
simply put, i’d altered her perception…
of what a loving companion should be…
i, having dealt in lies and deception…
meant the person she wanted wasn’t me…
i, having dealt in manipulation…
and plans to confuse her with my mind’s thoughts…
she met each and every stipulation…
just to chase me to death with whiskey shots…
when i die, she’ll look at me and wonder…
whose deeds really put me six feet under?”

sonnet 66

“i don’t want to hear “i love you” again;
anymore; like they’re words you’re supposed to…
say; now those words spoken almost akin…
to; the equivalent of verbal poo…
her doctor diagnosed “shit mouth disease”;
the last time she said “i love you” to me…
his opinion’s in order to appease;
she tosses around the phrase casually…
so it’s no surprise when it comes from moi…
it’s dismissed like i’d just let loose a fart…
sometimes i think loving’s my only flaw…
and that this body’s too small for my heart…
my doc pronounced i’ve “s.m.d.” as well…
“fuck, shit, ass, bitch, cunt; you can go to hell…”

sonnet 67

“everybody lauds the work that’s written…
my hand is brilliant, though not my genius…
i may create masterpieces by pen;
but i craft symphonies with my penis…
my “baton”, a tool to get her to sing…
a three-part harmony, it’ll conduct…
not that a choral term means anything;
merely an euphemism for “we fucked”
or maybe the phrase means more than it seems…
an expression to voice the “oohs” and “aahs”
from low guttural moans to high-pitched screams…
the noises she makes: a ménage-a-trois…
guess it actually does say more than that:
“i may not like pets but i own that cat…”

sonnet 68

“the two clichéd ships passing in the night…
metaphor for what we turned out to be…
my eyes trained on her ‘til she’s out of sight…
gone, and then there was nothing else to see…
sometimes i stare into the darkest black…
hoping one day she’ll return to my side…
if watching the night sky will bring her back…
i’m steadfast, for fear of being denied…
the thoughts of a man that she’d left behind,
are ones remembered; i can’t forget her…
every experience etched in my mind;
the shared moments of our time together…
i gaze into the heavens for a star,
wondering if she is any less far…”

sonnet 69

“a goddess to all, in egypt or rome,
or greece; she’s beauty: her face and her heart…
like the famous “aphrodite” in foam…
she’s a masterpiece; a real work of art…
poets write of her, those greater than me…
skilled with the use of a quill and a word;
penning lovely prose of what they doth see…
one that inspires; a title conferred…
a muse to me, my feelings of passion…
in describing her essence; all she is…
i “armani” words, that means i fashion…
thoughts of loving; dido and aeneus”…
i “versace” words, in the latest trend…
with praise for her on my lips 'til the end…”

sonnet 70

“five years ago when we made first contact...
eighteen hundred twenty-six days away...
i don't think i realized then the impact,
her presence would have on my life today...
on march twenty-third, two thousand and then...
the past; her words at a rant i'd posted...
funny how a mere comment can begin...
a bond of which i've actually boasted...
we've not shared a lifetime, but gladly spend;
the time in our lives sorting through the "mess"...
the truth is i love her more than a friend;
she's more than a friend, should i love her less?
"best i ever had"; "have", in terms of hearts...
sixty months later, still "drake" on the charts...”